Nine Reasons to Live
by Thaddeus MacChuzzlewit
Summary: Newkirk claimed to have nine siblings. Like most aspects of his life, it was half truth, half lie. LeBeau has the span of one mission gone terribly wrong, to pry the whole story from his friend. It just might be the only way they'll survive the night.
1. Part 1

_This story was inspired by Kirarakim's challenge, #334, More Than Just Mavis, and is part of the Hogan's Heroes Big Bang, 2016._

 _When you're finished reading, go look at Belphegor's AMAZING illustrations. (the-french-belphegor . tumblr image /153913068838) and (the-french-belphegor . tumblr image /153913454298)_

 _Now, don't freak out. It's called a non-linear plot line, and I promise it will make sense if you persevere to the end._

* * *

 **Nine Reasons to Live**

* * *

 _Tiens bon._

 _Tiens bon._

 _Ne lâche pas._

 _Hang on._

 _Don't let go._

LeBeau had his eyes pressed shut.

For just a moment he wanted to pretend he wasn't where he was. He wanted to pretend there was a way for them to walk away from this mission. He wanted to pretend that he couldn't feel the tendons and ligaments in his arm tearing and his ribs weren't pressed so painfully tight that he would be screaming if he could only breathe. Newkirk had fallen silent, and if he focused hard enough, LeBeau could pretend the roaring water was only white noise: radio static, wind outside the barracks, the rolling boil of a cooking pot.

But after three years of friendship with Newkirk, LeBeau had an ingrained response to quiet, and his eyes opened of their own accord. Quiet meant trouble. It meant Newkirk was either in trouble, or planning trouble.

In this case, trouble had found him.

"Newkirk?" LeBeau grit out.

"'m here."

It wasn't raining any more, but the thick clouds overhead were still playing games with the moonlight, and LeBeau could see little more than the white of Newkirk's hand, and the glint of light off his wet hair. He was looking down, while LeBeau was trying hard not to.

"I can tell you are there." LeBeau let out a snort of laughter that bordered on hysterical, but that was probably because it hurt so much. "I am very aware of it."

That prompted Newkirk to break his silence. "You've got to l-let go, mate. I'm gonna pull your arm right-t off."

LeBeau tasted copper, and realised he had bitten through his lip. He felt sick. "It is just an arm. I have a spare."

Suddenly something slipped, and Newkirk jerked hard against his arm. Spots exploded across LeBeau's vision and the pain seemed to echo through his head so loud he didn't even hear his own scream.

When he blinked again his cheeks were wet, and he had to viciously hold back the desire to whimper. He took a couple short breaths, choking off the sound.

"LeBeau? Can you 'ear me? Louis!"

It took a couple more breaths before he could answer. "Yes?"

Newkirk's voice was so soft he could barely hear it over the water. "Y-you know I'm right. You can do a lot of things, LeBeau. But you can't pull me back up."

* * *

 **" _Neuf_ _._ " **

**"Nine."**

* * *

LeBeau peered out the entrance one more time and then shuffled backwards on the hay strewn floor until he felt the wall behind him. Newkirk scooted to the side as LeBeau turned awkwardly in the tight space and then settled down beside his friend with his back to the shed wall.

Watching the lightning flash outside, LeBeau sighed, and then wrapped an arm around Newkirk's shoulders. Newkirk would pretend it was the cold, but both could use the assurance that the other was physically there beside him.

It was pure dumb luck that had saved them, and LeBeau refused to rely on luck to get them back to camp safely. He still wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but someone had tried to kill them, and even if Newkirk claimed he didn't know why, he did know _something_. Newkirk had seen something LeBeau hadn't, and it seemed to have shaken the Englishman. He'd been unusually quiet ever since.

As the storm's light penetrated their hideout for a moment, LeBeau could see a pensive look in his friend's green eyes.

"Louis? Do you ever worry who will look after your family if you don't make it through the war?"

LeBeau tightened his hold on his friend and considered the question. He had questions of his own right now, but he was fairly sure Newkirk would be unwilling to answer them. As a rule, Newkirk never spoke about his family. If he did drop the odd comment here and there, it didn't take long to realise everything he said contradicted itself. The fact that he'd brought them up on his own was worrisome.

"Sometimes, _mon pote_. I worry how it will upset them. But I have a very large family. I know that my aunts and my uncles, my cousins, second-cousins, my grandfather and grandmother, they will all look out for my mother and they will take care of each other."

A soft thud in the darkness indicated that Newkirk had set his head back against the wall. He was staring at the murky ceiling in the dark. It was far too close. The shed was closer in size to a hen-house.

"I'm not sure how me family would make out."

LeBeau shifted. "You told me that Mavis has a good job now, and I'm sure her friends will look after her."

"It's not just Mavis though..." Newkirk glanced at his small friend. "I _told_ you I have nine siblings."

There was silence for a minute before LeBeau poked him in the ribs. "What! How do I not know this? I thought you were joking!"

Newkirk turned to look outside again. "I kind o' was. But it is true. Mavis is me only sister what was born to me Mum and Da, but I've got other brothers and sisters. Some o' them will get on fine without me, but I'm not so sure about the others."

"Are you telling me your parents adopted eight other children?" LeBeau couldn't help making a face. "I think I understand why your family has money problems."

Newkirk chuckled. "That would be rather daft. We could barely feed the four of us. That's not what I meant, LeBeau."

LeBeau pulled at a loose thread hanging from the hem of his pants. "Well then explain to me how you have only one sister, and nine siblings at the same time."

It was difficult to see very well, but LeBeau could tell his taller friend was glaring at him. Not very effectively, given the lighting, but frowning still. It was probably his 'I see what you're trying to do, and I'm not impressed' look.

LeBeau was immune.

"Oh fine."

"Really?"

That was unexpected.

"Shut up, LeBeau. First off, there's me older brother, Owen."

LeBeau felt like pointing out that Newkirk had always claimed to be the eldest in his family, but if he was in a rare mood to talk about his family at all, LeBeau wasn't going to interrupt.

"Mum got real sick when Mavis was born: had to go to the hospital and she never could have more kids after that. There was this couple on the next floor, and they were both Welsh. Used to come speak the old language with me Mum sometimes. So with Mavis just a baby, and I was only three and me Mum was all laid up, the lady would come down and help look after us. Owen was her son."

LeBeau nodded, "So you call him a brother because he grew up with you?"

"Sort of. A couple months later his folks both died o' the fever and he moved in with us. Worked at a mill and came home on the weekends. Owen was a great sort. Even after he found his own place he still tried to send a little bit o' money home." A grin broke over Newkirk's face. "Taught me all about the birds, he did. Used to show me off to all his dates, just 'cause I was a tiny bit o' a thing and they thought Owen was so sweet and responsible."

The Frenchman rolled his eyes. "I can see how he was part of the family."

Newkirk laughed. "Cor, he did get the Newkirk genes, even if it weren't in his blood."

"Is he in the army too?" LeBeau asked.

"Was," Newkirk said. "Owen was discharged before I was even enlisted: lost his left leg to a land mine. Made me swear up and down I would go in for the RAF so the same thing wouldn't happen to me."

LeBeau swore under his breath. "Filthy war."

* * *

 _It wasn't an especially hot afternoon, the breeze from the river for once making its way through the tightly packed tenements without bringing heavy smog with it. But the baby's face scrunched up whenever the sun struck her eyes, so Peter Newkirk sat carefully on the edge of the wooden milk crate, his shadow protecting her tiny features. He still didn't really understand why the last baby had left them the previous summer, but if he had any say in the matter, this one was here to stay. So far she hadn't shown much interest in his attempts to entertain her, but Peter was determined to win her over._

 _Right now, Mavis was sleeping, despite the rumble of traffic just feet away. The alley itself was quieter than usual, missing the constant crowd around the faucet that was the tenement's only source of water. The lack of noise was making Peter nervous. It was always noisy, even at night._

 _The local traffic had started clearing about half an hour back, and even at age three, Peter was an expert at picking out anger and fear on adult's faces. Something was wrong._

 _A year ago, he would have run and hid, but he was a big brother now, and Mavis couldn't run with him. So, Peter sat on the edge of the milk crate, his feet not quite reaching the ground below, picking nervously at the knot of tangled yarn in his small hands. Adams from up the street had told him if he managed to undo it he would teach him some tricks with a coin, and if he was any good he'd teach him something useful._

 _Peter's head snapped up when a horse in the street shied, its shoes smacking against the paving stones loudly. The sound was even more noticeable because the carts and cars had begun to disappear as well._

 _He jumped down from the box. There had to be some way he could get Mavis out. He couldn't lift her. He'd already tried, but his arms were too short. Perhaps if he pushed the box onto its side? But what if she hurt her head on the way out?_

 _Mavis blinked up at him, woken by the sun on her face._

 _He had to do something!_

 _"Peter!"_

 _Peter burst into tears as soon as he recognised the figure at the entrance to the alley. "Owen!"_

 _The older boy broke out of the hug desperately wrapped around his knees, and knelt down to Peter's level._

" _Hey Pete. Where's your Mum?"_

 _Peter pressed his face into Owen's vest. "Don't know. She went out this morning, lookin' for Da."_

 _Owen said nothing for a minute, his features twisted in some emotion that Peter didn't recognise. "How about Mavis? She must be 'ungry."_

 _That was a given, but Mavis didn't know any better. She still cried when she was hungry. "She was crying earlier. I think she's too tired now."_

" _Well, I'm 'ere now. Let's get you both up apples."_

 _Peter nodded. The stuffy heat of their flat sounded so much better than it had that morning, when the smell of the McMillans' cooking had left the whole tenement reeking of fish._

 _Owen reached down to retrieve Mavis from her milk crate. "I'm goin' to need you to stay away from the window. Alright, Pete? There's a load of coppers round on Cable street, right now. Word is that Rigby Cooper's out o' the bucket an' pail and back in town. Things could get right nasty."_

 _Trotting after the older boy, Peter glanced back at the milk crate. Owen had sanded down the inside for them. When he'd left his hat in the alley last week someone had stolen it._

" _Just leave it there for now. I'll come back for it," Owen said, kindly. "Now come on up, me one and t'other, and I'll tell you all what I learned in school today."_

* * *

 **" _Huit._ "**

 **"Eight"**

* * *

"I really don't like the look of those clouds," Newkirk announced. "We never should have left the camp tonight."

LeBeau frowned, following the sound of his friend's voice as he walked, but not paying attention to the words. His focus was all on his jacket. " _Tais-toi_. Stop grumbling. I am trying to concentrate."

"On your buttons?" Newkirk asked incredulously, coming to a stop.

"Shut up. You know we are all out of buttons. If I don't tie off this thread it could fall of anywhere, and I will never find it." LeBeau threw his hand up in the air with a curse. " _Zut!_ It is too dark. I can't see anything."

He looked up to see his friend grinning at him. Newkirk was purposefully standing between him and what little moonlight there was, casting shadow over his jacket. Rolling his eyes, LeBeau pushed him out of the way. "Why have we stopped?"

"We're here. This is where we supposed to meet Aladdin."

Looking around, LeBeau couldn't see anything that made this patch of woods different from all the rest. There was a slope off to their left where the ground dipped before a river cut through the woods. At this point they were still too far from the river to hear the water, but LeBeau knew it was somewhere in that direction. The wooden bridge that crossed it was a favourite of theirs because it was exclusively for foot traffic, and the Nazis didn't bother to patrol it.

Sighing, LeBeau looked back down at his loose buttons. "Well I hope this Aladdin shows up soon. I, for one, am interested in seeing what he looks like. An English spy, working undercover with the Germans for this long? What sort of man is able to keep up a cover for that long? His German must be very good."

Newkirk batted his hands away from his sweater. "Stop it, LeBeau. Just pull the ruddy things off. It's too dark to fix it because the clouds are too thick, which is what I was telling you just a minute ago."

He had said that, hadn't he? LeBeau glanced up. The trees were fairly dense, but what he could see of the sky was brewing with thick dark clouds. Now he could see the tree tops were thrashing back and forth above them. When had the wind picked up so high?

"I do not like the look of those clouds."

"Really?" Newkirk glared at him. "I just bloody said that."

LeBeau shrugged, hiding a smile. "What do you know about him?"

"Who? Aladdin? I never met him."

"No. I mean, yes. But **—** "LeBeau dropped his voice, peering into the darkness around them, "as his real self: Captain Bradshaw. What did he do before this?"

"I wouldn't know. He must o' come from somewhere, but it wasn't nowhere I ever heard of. LeBeau!" Newkirk snapped. "Leave the buttons alone!"

He slapped at the Frenchman's hand a little too hard, and incensed, LeBeau kicked him in the ankle. Newkirk wasn't expecting the kick, and he jumped back, tripping over his own foot and landing on the ground.

 **Crack!**

The sound was abrupt, and completely unexpected.

LeBeau stared at Newkirk, stock still and confused. There was a hole in the tree where Newkirk's head had been a moment before.

He didn't recognise the sound for a gunshot until the second bullet had already fired and Newkirk had rolled over on his belly, yanking LeBeau's feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard, and barely found the wits to react when Newkirk scrambled up beside him, wrapping an arm under his chest and scooping him up into a hunched-over run.

Another shot cracked the air and LeBeau was struck by how loud his own heartbeat suddenly sounded. It was the only other thing he could hear, apart from Newkirk's heavy breathing. A burst of splintered wood rained down over them, and LeBeau ducked, pulling Newkirk down into a flurry of dried leaves. They were moving too fast to do anything but roll when they hit the ground, and LeBeau ended up with a mouthful of dirt and leaves

He coughed, and whipped his head around. Newkirk was sprawled behind him, looking back into the forest. There was a man standing where they'd been moments before, reloading his gun.

"Aladdin?" LeBeau said it more out of reflex than any expectation of an answer.

But the other man nodded. "Yes. Now get out the way. I'm trying to shoot him, not you."

* * *

 **" _Sept_." **

**"Seven"**

* * *

Newkirk's story had petered off as a roll of thunder shook the small shed. Rain was pouring down in sheets, spattering the doorstep and thoroughly soaking the fields outside. LeBeau wished he had a pair of gumboots to make the trip back to the footbridge. Maybe they should have stayed in the forest, closer to Stalag 13. Surely the trees would have protected them to some degree.

"So… Owen?" LeBeau said, pitching his voice over the pounding of the rain.

"Mmm. Well, Owen's actually got a job now, so he's not really dependent on me. But his fiancée was killed in the Blitz last year, and he hasn't even got parents from me family's side left..."

"It is really important to him that his little brother makes it home safe."

Newkirk nodded, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

LeBeau scuffed at the dirt with a finger, "What about your other siblings?"

* * *

 _The last complex on the end of the street had been built with a sad semblance of a garden, ringed with a high brick wall. Nothing grew there; nothing ever had, but the wall continued to protect the sterile scrap of dirt, and it offered a form of protection to one small eight-year-old as well. Peter Newkirk had discovered the year before that he could wedge his tiny fingers into the spaces between the bricks, and scale the wall. He wasn't the most agile kid in the neighbourhood, but he was one of the most determined. The wall wasn't quite tall enough to keep him out of the reach of adults, or more importantly, his father, but if he lay flat on his stomach, nobody could even see him._

 _Of course, he'd fallen off the wall once and broken his arm, when Rigby Cooper and his crew walked by and threw bottles at him, but he'd probably have come to a worse end if he'd been in their actual path._

 _Mavis sat at the base of the wall, carefully working at the piece of mending Mum had set for her. Nobody paid much attention to her, least of all their father, who'd never thought to question why she often talked to herself when she sat alone outside._

" _And after King 'enry the Eight' there was Lady Jane Grey, but she got 'er 'ead lopped off, after only a week. I though she looked awful pretty in the picture, Peter, with a luverly big dress. You oughta take a butcher's at me primer. Cor, it were all shiny and white an' all." She paused a moment to find her train of thought. "After that, Bloody Mary was Queen."_

 _Peter let his arm flop back across his eyes, cutting out the glare of the sky above him. The light seemed to slice between the leaning buildings with an extra harshness. "You missed Edward the Sixth, Mave."_

" _Oh." Mavis set down her needle. She rubbed at her knuckles where she'd received a rap the week before for forgetting her lesson. "You're right. I bodged it up again."_

"' _ey. Don't get yourself in a two an' six. We'll just keep a practicin', won't we?"_

 _A new voice entered the conversation._

" _I have no idea what you either of are saying. Is that even English?"_

 _Peter opened his eyes with a scowl, to see Louis LeBeau sitting on the edge of the wall, arms folded across his chest, and his feet gently kicking at the crumbling brick. "It's cockney rhyming slang, innit? Do I have to translate for you?"_

" _Do I speak French in front of you?"_

" _All the time."_

" _That's different."_

 _With a groan, Peter turned back to his sister. "Fine."_

 _Some of the thick accent faded away, leaving something closer to the English LeBeau was used to hearing Newkirk speak._

" _I could take you to the train station. If you were real quiet we could go in the big waiting room where they got pictures of all the kings and queens. Do you think they'd be easier to learn if you knew what every one of 'em looked like?"_

 _Mavis grinned, tipping back her head to look up at her brother. "Really? Could we? I'd like that!"_

 _Louis smiled along with her. "She looks like you."_

 _Both of the Newkirk siblings had messy brown hair, the kind that wasn't quite sure if it was curly or straight, fine features, and sloping green eyes that gave off an impression of somnolence no matter how wide awake they were. Mavis' face was a little rounder, but they were otherwise a matching pair._

 _Peter sat up, dusting off his hands. "There something wrong with that?"_

" _No. Of course not." Louis eyed him curiously. "You're not that much bigger than I am, now."_

" _Well, how old are you?"_

" _Here?" Louis shrugged. "The same age as you, I guess. Eight? I thought you'd be taller than you are."_

 _The other boy ducked his head, brows pressed together. "I'll grow later."_

" _Much later?"_

" _Maybe," Peter grumbled._

 _Louis smiled even wider._

" _Oi! Newkirk!"_

 _All three of them looked over at the entrance to the lane. Two new boys stood there. One had a shock of white-blond hair on his head, a turned-up nose, and an intimidating habit of planting his feet wide apart, like some explorer, laying claim to all he could see. He was clearly in charge of the smaller child behind him._

" _What do you want, 'arry?" Peter called out._

 _John Harold Kent was unfortunate enough to share both first and last name with three other boys in Peter's school. Consequently, he won the right to be known as Harry over two students in their grade, and eight in the school as a whole, who were known by their surnames instead._

" _You doing anything important? Adams wants to borrow you tonight."_

 _"What for?"_

" _Just opening a door. You're the one who got through the little window in the headmaster's office, a couple months ago, weren't you?"_

" _Peter's busy," Mavis cut in._

" _Wasn't talking to you, Newkirk minor."_

 _Mavis scowled._

" _I don't think I like him," Louis said._

" _I didn't like him either. Not at this point."_

" _Why?"_

 _Peter shrugged. "Jealous, I guess. There's one of the older boys, older than Owen, that used to live nearby. His name is Adams. All the sleight of hand I know, the lock-picking and stuff… he taught me most of it. When I was younger I used to help him with his work sometimes. Generally lifting wallets and small time stuff. But now he's graduated and workin' serious jobs and he still lets 'arry tag along. No one comes for me, not unless they need someone old enough to keep their mouth shut, and small enough to fit through a window."_

 _He turned away from Louis, hiding his eyes. "It wouldn't make sense to you… What time?" He asked, directing the last bit to Harry._

" _Around eleven. Meetin' outside the Chips shop."_

 _Peter rolled onto his stomach, lowering himself down the wall until he could drop to the ground. "What's 'e going to pay me?"_

 _The boy behind Harry derailed the rest of the conversation by tugging on Harry's shirtsleeves and announcing in a very loud voice that "I'm tired, 'arry! My feets is sore!"_

 _Harry's face twisted into a look of hopeless irritation, before he turned to face the smaller boy head on. "We just got 'ere, Ricky. If you're tired, go on and sit down. Go sit by the little girl, alright?"_

 _Rick nodded, and toddled past his brother. Mavis watched him approach with mild interest, trusting her brother to intervene if this little boy meant her any harm._

"' _What are you doing?" Rick shouted at Mavis, standing a little too close to her crossed legs._

 _Hands on his hips, Peter looked to Harry with a cocked eyebrow._

" _My little brother. He's mostly deaf on the right side, and little bit on the left. You gotta show 'im your face when you talk to 'im."_

" _What's deaf?" Mavis asked._

"' _is ears is broke," Peter told her._

" _Oh." Mavis held out her sewing to show the smaller boy. Then she offered him a hand, pulling him down to sit beside her._

 _Harry sauntered closer, skirting a pile of broken glass, checking how near he could get to Peter. The older Newkirk confused him. Peter was an odd combination of mischievous and cautious, always joking and collecting friends at school, and then breaking the nose of the first boy that got too close without his permission._

 _Harry looked up at the wall, his fine blond eyebrows pinched together. Louis stuck his tongue out, even though he knew he wouldn't get a reaction._

" _Are you 'iding from something?"_

 _Peter and Mavis spoke at the same time._

" _Our Da' is back from work."_

" _I'm not hiding," Peter snapped indignantly, and then flushed when he realised what Mavis had said. "I'll do the job, alright? You can go tell Adams, now."_

 _Harry eyed him critically._

" _Pierre?"_

" _What?"_

" _How did you get down? I'm stuck."_

 _Peter glanced over his shoulder, still angry. "You can't go down front-wise. You gotta turn around first, Louis."_

" _Oh."_

" _Mavis and I is busy now. I'll see you at eleven," Peter said, the edge of his quick temper starting to cut through his speech._

 _Harry nodded slowly. "Fine. I'll tell 'im. See you later, Newkirk."_

 _Louis dropped down beside his friend. He looked at the palms of his hands. They were covered in a sticky black substance. "_ _Beurk_ _. What is that?"_

" _Hmm?" Peter was busy watching Harry take his little brother and leave. "I dunno. It comes from the air. Coats everything whenever the smog runs through."_

 _Face scrunched up in disgust, Louis wiped his hands on the back of Peter's shirt, leaning around him to see the other two boys go._

"I still don't see why you call him your brother."

Newkirk blinked, refocussing on shed and the pounding rain outside.

"You'll see. I'll tell you what happened the next day."

* * *

 _Peter didn't want to knock on Harry's door tonight. If he went up the inside stairs anyone might see him. They wouldn't care, but they might talk, and this was going to be humiliating enough already._

 _Nature and neglect had given him another way up to the second floor flat. Rot and a serious infestation of all kinds of vermin had eaten away many of the buildings in the area. They were patched with a mixture of materials, and in this case, braced against the opposite tenement with a tangle of scrap wood, stolen railway ties, and a broken carriage. The outside wall was still bulging, but for now, the building continued to stand and provide shelter._

 _Peter had to haul himself up onto a rubbish bin before he could reach lowest beam of the slap-dash scaffolding that twisted past Harry's flat._

" _Give me a hand up?"_

 _Peter lay flat on his stomach to pull Louis up after him, groaning with the effort. "Golly but you're short."_

 _For once, the comment came out like an actual insult, but Louis guessed Peter's mood had little to do with him. He decided to let it slide. Scrambling to his feet, Louis brushed at his knees. The soot only ground itself further into his pants._

 _Peter passed him by, sure-footed as he climbed the scaffolding, even in the darkness. Louis could barely see anything. Very little natural light made its way in between the tightly packed buildings, and the smog filtered out any effects from the street lights along the main road. "Be quiet 'ere. The cross pieces make an awful racket if you step on 'em wrong."_

 _It wasn't as easy as he made it sound, and Peter was already tapping on a second-floor window when Louis came to kneel beside him._

 _The window sash slid up._

" _Peter. Come for your cut already?" Harry's voice dropped when he saw the state of Peter's face, one eye already fully swollen shut. "Ruddy 'ell. Can you even see anythin'?"_

 _Louis clenched his hands into fists as Peter flushed to his roots._

" _Shut up. Just gimme me share o' it."_

 _Harry nodded, and ducked his head back inside. He came back seconds later with a couple coins. Peter reached for them, but the other boy held them back._

" _Is your sister okay?"_

 _Peter said nothing, but it was clear he was close to punching Harry for implying he might leave Mavis anywhere she was in danger of being hurt._

" _My mistake," Harry said, picking up on the unspoken answer. "What about you? Are you headed back 'ome tonight?"_

" _No."_

" _Where you gonna stay?"_

 _Peter shrugged._

" _Do you 'ave someplace?" Harry pressed._

" _What's it to you?" Peter growled, grabbing at Harry's wrist._

" _Stay with us tonight."_

 _The suggestion surprised Peter enough that he let go of the window-frame he'd been leaning on with one hand, and almost fell through the window. Harry reached out to help him, but Peter jerked back with a hiss._

 _Reasoning that he couldn't make the situation worse, Louis pressed a reassuring hand to his friend's back as Peter retreated further away onto the scaffolding._

" _I'm fine. Just 'and over the bread, 'arry."_

" _Nope. Not till you come on in, Peter. My Grandmum's deaf as a doorknob, and she sleeps in the other room. She won't even notice, and Ricky certainly won't care if you share our bed."_

 _Peter looked over his shoulder, peering in the direction of the main road. The fog was even thicker than before._

" _Is this what a London Pea Soup looks like?" Louis whispered. The damp was pervasive; it felt like the moisture was sitting in his bones._

 _Peter nodded absently._

" _Listen." Harry started playing with the coins, running them over his fingers like Louis had often see Peter do when he was nervous. "You want to just stay one night? That's fine. I'll get an afghan and you can sleep under the bed if you wants. Then me Grandmum won't even see you if she comes in. The window doesn't lock. You can leave anytime."_

 _It took a bit more convincing before Peter crawled in the window after Harry._

" _Will you come here often?" Louis asked, as Harry pulled out blanket from a corner of the tiny room._

 _Peter nodded. "In another couple years their Grandmother's gout gets even worse, and they'll move into a room on the bottom floor of our place. You remember that blue scarf I got in a package, about a year back?"_

" _Yes. The really lumpy one?"_

" _It were 'arry's Grandmum what made it for me."_

* * *

They had definitely made the right choice hiding in the barn. They'd passed flooded fields, a flattened hen-house, and several trees, broken off and trailing in the roaring river. LeBeau hadn't even realised it was possible to fit that much water in a river that size. It was beating against the pillars of the footbridge so hard the entire structure was shivering under the constant beating.

They stood side by side, eyeing the crossing.

"Do you think it's safe?" Newkirk asked.

LeBeau frowned. "I don't know. But how else we will get back across the water?"

Newkirk shifted, cocking his head to one side as stared at it unhappily. "Guess we don't have much of a choice."

"No."

LeBeau took a couple cautious steps onto the wooden bridge, his hands gripping the railings tightly. It was just wide enough for two men to walk side by side if they didn't mind their shoulders touching. Newkirk followed him, stretching so he had one hand on each side.

"LeBeau, wait a minute, mate. I should walk in front."

Looking over his shoulder, LeBeau's face was incredulous. "What for?"

"Because… just– What if the shooter's waiting for us? What if he sees you?"

"Since when are you invisible? He would see you too!"

Newkirk pawed at his shoulder, turning him around. "But if you're in front you might get shot."

"And you wouldn't?" LeBeau's dark brows drew together in anger.

"I just – wait—"

 _"Ridicule! Déjà que tu ne me racontes pas toute l'histoire, je ne vais pas en plus jouer les paranoïaques pour te faire plaisir –"_

"LeBeau! Stop!" Newkirk shouted over him, losing his temper nearly as fast.

 _"_ _Tu as dit neuf et pas huit_ _!"_ He tried to shake him off, but Newkirk seemed to be stuck to his jacket.

"Let go!"

Newkirk pulled, but just yanked LeBeau with him. "It's your ruddy buttons. The threads are tangled in the zip of my coat cuffs."

LeBeau swore. "I told you they were going to be a problem. Do you have your knife with you?"

"'Course."

The bridge shuddered under their feet, and LeBeau grabbed for the railing, while Newkirk clutched at his shirtfront.

"What the—?"

"Run!" LeBeau took two steps for the other end of the bridge, both hands on the railing, trusting Newkirk to follow, when a deafening crunch split the air, and the whole thing pitched violently to the side.


	2. Part 2

.

* * *

 **" _Six._ "**

 **"Six"**

* * *

" _And then you pick up six."_

 _"What?" Peter asked, blinking at his young friend._

 _Louis uncurled his fist to reveal the rubber ball. His stubby fingers barely covered the shiny red toy. "I bounce the ball. First one to pick up six jacks in one catch wins."_

 _"Oh." The stones of the cobbled ground before them were worn flat with age, and made a perfect surface to play with the small pile of metallic jacks sitting by Louis' knee._

 _"Is it safe to sit here?" Peter asked. He wasn't sure if they were sitting in a lane-way, a street, or some sort of courtyard. The line of buildings on either side of them were all three floors, old, narrow, and pressed right against their neighbours, like the blocks of walk-ups Peter was used to. But these were different. Some were white-washed, some stone instead of brick, and all were dotted with small signs of care: decorative wrought-iron grills, hanging baskets and painted shutters. The white-washed building behind them was draped in vines, and geraniums sprouted from pots on the window sill. It seemed to pretty to be wasted on a back alley._

 _Louis shrugged, and picked up a handful of jacks. "I've done all my chores, so I don't see why not."_

 _With his feet flat on the cobble stones, Louis' knees sat level with the concrete doorstep. Peter was almost two inches taller, but his limbs were awkwardly angular, his elbows and knees too sharp._

 _"Can you count to six?"_

 _"In French or English?"_

 _Louis tilted his head to one side, thinking. His cheeks were round and pink, his dark eyes appearing overly large with their long lashes. Peter was reminded of the Kewpie doll Bunny's father had sent her. Mavis probably would have called him adorable. "French. This is my memory."_

 _Frowning, Peter pushed his sleeve up his arm and tried to peer at the back of his bicep. The skin was unmarred. "I must be five years old. I can't even count that far in English, yet."_

 _"Really?_ _Pourquoi_ _? I can count past ten. I can even read a bit."_

 _"Well bully for you."_

 _Louis stuck out his tongue. "Jealous?"_

 _Peter snatched up a handful of jacks. "Just count for me, Louis."_

" _My turn first. It is just two groups of three. Easy." Louis tossed the jacks out on the ground, dropping to his knees beside him._

 _The door behind them was wide open, letting loose a strong smell of baking. Peter's eyes followed the lines of the cracked ceramic tiles into the house, as far as he could see. Each individual tile was a glossy white, so clean Peter was sure he could lick it and all he would taste was lemon._

 _"How are you related to any of this?" he wondered._

 _"What?"_

 _"My story, I mean."_

 _"Well you would know that, not me," Louis tossed over his shoulder. He was playing with one hand cupped against his chest, collecting the gathered jacks along his arm since he couldn't fit them all in his hands._

 _Peter got to his feet, leaning forward to watch Louis play. "How are you so good at this? You ought to be too small."_

 _"I've never been too small for anything," Louis told him seriously._

* * *

Aladdin didn't shoot LeBeau.

He didn't shoot either of them, mostly because one moment they were there in his sights, and the next moment Newkirk had pulled LeBeau over the edge of the hill, dipping down towards the river and into the darkness.

It was a surprise to Aladdin, and also to the small Frenchman.

LeBeau lay for a couple of minutes, flat on his back, slightly stunned.

Someone had an entirely unnecessary hand pressed over his mouth.

He wiggled, and it was removed.

Newkirk was crouched above him, leaves in his hair, his civilian garb rumpled and his skin white in the moonlight. "We've got to get a move on. The weather's getting worse, and I don't want to be waiting when that fellow gets back."

LeBeau pushed himself up on his elbows. "You pushed me off a cliff!"

"Shhh!" Newkirk hissed. "It weren't a cliff. It was a ruddy small hill. It's not my fault you hit a tree at the bottom."

It was getting even darker now, and even the leaves on the ground had picked up in the wind, swirling around them in rustling eddies. LeBeau shuddered. It was colder, too.

"What happened? Why was he shooting at us?"

Newkirk got to his feet and offered LeBeau his hand. "I dunno. We can figure that out later. Maybe he's crackers. Come on. We've got to go."

"Did you recognise him? There must be some reason he was focused on you, Newkirk. You're the one carrying the envelope of codes for him, but he couldn't have known that. Do you know this Captain Bradshaw from somewhere?" LeBeau pressed against his forehead. The forest swam around him for a minute after he stood. Newkirk grabbed his hand and wiped it against his shirt.

"Don't look at that, mate. You're going to be fine. It's not that bad."

As soon as the dizziness subsided, Newkirk took off, moving swiftly into the trees. LeBeau hurried to keep pace. It was hard to see the ground with all the movement of wind around them. "You did not answer my question. Did you recognise him?"

Newkirk ducked as a dead branch dropped from a tree beside them. "I didn't get a good look. I ran down the hill after you, and ducked be'ind that tree. Bloody 'ell! This wind is rough."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, momentarily distracting LeBeau from his line of questioning. He cocked his head to the side. "Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"Do you hear that?"

"What?" Newkirk stumbled over a tree branch, and fell to one knee. "I can't 'ear you. Too windy."

It wasn't the thunder, but a different sound LeBeau could hear approaching. An ongoing rushing sound, like a million little drumbeats, or… heavy rain.

"Rain?"

And that's when it caught up with them. They could actually see the sheets of rain like a of falling liquid, one moment a hazy presence in the forest behind them, and the next a cold, pounding downpour around them.

Newkirk yelped in shock. Even with coverage of the forest, they were getting soaked to the skin. LeBeau hauled him to his feet. " _Il faut qu'on se dépêche_.We need to find cover, or we will drown standing up."

Newkirk coughed in reply and pointed off to the north. The wind was whipping the rain about at such an angle that there was no way to keep it from striking you in the face, no matter how far you leaned into it. "There's a farm, right on the other side of the river, remember? Nobody will be out in this weather to see us."

The idea of travelling further away from Stalag 13 was not appealing, especially with that gunman still out there, somewhere. But as another roll of thunder broke across the sky LeBeau nodded in agreement. It wasn't safe to be out in this weather. Soon they would have to worry about lightening strikes too.

"I thought I might 'ave recognised him."

LeBeau paused mid-step, before hurrying to keep up. "The shooter?"

Newkirk ducked his head, presumable in assent.

"How? Who was it? One of the Gestapo we've come in contact with before? A guard from the camp?"

"No. Not a German - none of them. Never mind. It was probably a trick of the light."

"If it wasn't a German… then why do you think Captain Bradshaw was shooting at us?"

Newkirk darted a look at him out the corner of his eye. His face was pinched with conflict. "I don't know Captain Bradshaw. How would I recognise him?"

A roll of thunder reverberated through the forest, making them both jump. LeBeau ducked his head even further into the collar of his jacket. This wasn't a conversation they'd be able to finish now. For a generally untrusting fellow, Newkirk was capable of a surprising amount of self-deception. "Maybe you met him a long time ago. You just forgot the name."

"I don't know. I'm really not sure."

"You are just saying that because you don't want to tell me who it is," LeBeau accused.

"No. I'm not sure. Would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

Newkirk tipped his head to the side. "Alright. True. But I'm not lying now, mate."

* * *

 **" _Cinq._ "**

 **"Five"**

* * *

"Mavis, Owen, Harry and Rick," LeBeau prompted. Newkirk seemed to have gotten stuck, unwilling to tell him the next part of his story. "Who came next? Who is number five?"

" _Was_ number five."

" _Pardon?_ "

"You've got the tense wrong," Newkirk said slowly. "See..."

He stopped, cleared his throat and then tried again. "When I was nine Da went to jail for a bit. I picked up a couple odd jobs after school, a few others when I could get away with skipping, Mum took in laundry and sewing, and she danced in the evenin's when I could look after Mavis. But it wasn't bringin' in enough to cover rent. So there was this fellow with his baby, Rebecca, 'oo's mum died in childbirth. He went to sea and we looked after Bunny."

"Bunny?"

"Shut up, LeBeau. That was what I called her, because she was just a little soft thing."

"So you have two little sisters?"

Newkirk's voice took on a sort of monotone quality. "She died when I was thirteen. We don't even know what took her. Couldn't afford a doctor at the time. I know I shouldn't really count Bunny with the nine, but if I don't, it feels like she's just being erased, you know?"

"I understand. We put up a gravestone for my Tante Claire's only son, even though he was stillborn. Because he was important to us."

LeBeau got a grunt as an answer.

* * *

"Y-you know I'm right. You can do a lot of things, LeBeau. But you can't pull me back up."

" _La ferme!_ " LeBeau screamed over the sound of the water. "Do not move! Not one inch, Newkirk. If you move I swear I will hate you forever!"

He wanted to keep talking, because words had always been his strongest weapon, but his ribs were so cramped he couldn't get out the air for another sound.

"You'd hate me if you lost an arm, too. I- I can't hold on much longer."

LeBeau was wedged in between the rungs of the footbridge railings. Newkirk had slid through sideways as one pillar of the bridge collapsed underneath them, broken by the debris that swamped the river, and if LeBeau hadn't been yanked forward by the snap of his button-strings he probably never would have caught Newkirk's hand in time.

He bit harder into his lip. He would not let go. Never.

But he couldn't pull Newkirk up, either.

Sooner or later one of them would slip.

"Louis? Don't t-tell 'em I drowned. I don't want- I-"

He kicked out a foot one more time, trying to find something on the underside to grip, but it was all too slick with rain. LeBeau pressed his face into the wood of the bridge, biting back another scream. His whole arm was on fire. He could feel his hold failing.

When he opened his eyes something was different.

LeBeau blinked hard, staring into the dark.

"Pierre."

"I'm here."

"Give me nine more seconds."

"What?" Newkirk grit out, coughing on the water dripping off the bridge.

"Just hold on for nine more seconds. I know you have nine very good reasons not to let go. Count with me. … _Neuf_ …"

"What?"

"I said count! _Neuf_ …"

"Nine?"

" _Oui._ _Huit_ …"

"Eight."

" _Sept_ …"

"Seven"

" _Six._ Keep holding on."

"Six."

" _Cinq…_ "

"Five."

* * *

 **" _Quatre_."**

 **"Four"**

* * *

 _Peter examined the pile of chipped stone in the palm of his hand. "Explain to me what we're doing again?"_

 _Louis stuck his feet in the loops of the ornate iron railing, and pulled himself up until he could see over the edge of the bridge._

 _"We're big game hunters and we're going shooting."_

 _"What are we shooting?"_

 _The bridge was wide and gently arched, clearly built with beauty in mind over basic utility. There were a few small boats passing leisurely underneath. The banks on either side were lined with broad-leafed trees, growing from carefully paved circles in the pavement._

 _Peter took a deep breath. It didn't smell nearly as bad as he expected of a city this big._

 _"Today we are shooting Wild Rhinocéros! Come stand up here," Louis beckoned. "Put your bullets on the ledge beside you."_

 _Peter followed his directions, leaning over to stare at the water below. "I don't see any rhinoceruses."_

 _"That is because I was waiting for you," Louis said patiently. "You have to be in place, or they will come up too fast to hit._ _Maman_ _will drop them for us."_

 _Peter eyed the dark-haired couple leaning against the opposite railing, talking quietly to each other. The man had one arm linked with the woman's and the only wrinkles on his face were gathered around the corners of his eyes, not etched into his forehead. A pile of leaves sat at their elbow._

 _"_ _C'est bon, Maman. Maintenant_ _!"_

 _Smiling indulgently, she threw a couple of the leaves over the side._

 _"Pan! Pan!"_

 _Peter turned back to his friend to see what he was shouting about._

 _As soon as the leaves passed under the bridge, Louis dropped his stones over the edge, trying to hit the leaves and sink them before they were out of his reach._

 _Peter aimed at another leaf as it came into view. "Bang!"_

 _It was harder than it looked._

 _"You missed!" Louis pointed out. "You_ _can't_ _drop the rock right above the rhinoceros. It will not be in the same spot by the time it finishes dropping."_

 _"Bang!" Peter tried again._

 _"Pan! Pan! Pan!"_

 _Louis sunk all three leaves, and Peter missed again._

 _"You're very good at this."_

 _"I know," Louis grinned. "Keep trying. It takes practice."_

 _"Bang! Bang!"_

 _"Pan!"_

 _"Bang!"_

 _"Pan! Pan! Pan!"_

 _"Your gun sounds weird."_

 _"_ Your _gun sounds weird."_

* * *

" _Zéro_."

Newkirk didn't have much choice in letting go; he was already falling. But LeBeau still felt his hand tense for a millisecond, when it was too late, and he was only gripping the end of LeBeau's fingers.

He didn't scream. Newkirk's startle reflex had always been disturbingly silent, although he put on an excellent show when he'd actually seen you coming.

Instead he was just there, and then he wasn't, and LeBeau was alone.

Just his own harsh breathing echoing above the sound of the river.

LeBeau twisted to the side and wiggled back on his belly, trying not to move his throbbing shoulder. The whole footbridge was on an angle, and he had to crawl along the awkward junction between the railing and the floorboards before finally scrambling to reach solid ground.

He wobbled as he climbed to both feet. The footbridge behind him was still shivering with each buffet of the water. A few broken floorboards fell away as he watched.

LeBeau broke into a run, heading downriver.

It was too dark to see far, and too many trees leaned over the water, obscuring the banks. The gunman might even be out there somewhere, but LeBeau didn't have the time or inclination to worry about him.

The broken tree was going to stop all the river's debris, and LeBeau was certain he'd managed to drop Newkirk onto the board he'd seen heading their way, the one that looked suspiciously like the side of a sentry post from the bigger bridge, further up the river. What he wasn't sure about was whether Newkirk would be able to hang on, and whether the tree would keep his raft anchored, or just suck him under the makeshift dam.

"Newkirk!" LeBeau shouted. He choked on the last syllable, realising he'd had his teeth grit against the pain in his shoulder.

It hurt too much.

LeBeau swore as he slowed to a stop. He couldn't run like this.

The Frenchman unbuttoned his jacket and pulled his arm out of the sleeve with a groan. He tucked it tight to his chest and did up the jacket again. Using only one arm made the process frustratingly slow, but it was the only way he could move without wanting to scream.

" _T'as intérêt à ne pas être mort, mon pote,_ " he hissed as he got the top button done. "It would be a stupid way to die."

He ran further along the bank. Once he paused, thinking he saw Newkirk already on his feet, waiting at the water's edge, but it was only a shadow. Dread began to mount that the tree had washed away, and then he saw it: a dark mass mid-river.

"Newkirk!"

 _Je t'en prie._

 _Je t'en supplie, réponds._

"LeBeau!"

Ecstatic, LeBeau sprinted the last dozen yards. "Newkirk! Are you alright? You are not hurt? You're alive!"

His friend was sprawled on the candy-striped raft, which was lodged into the side of a massive dam of debris. There was plenty of material to bridge his way back to shore, but Newkirk was still holding onto his slab of wood with a white-knuckled grip. "I'm alive, but I'm goin' to ruddy _kill you_ , LeBeau! You could 'ave told me you were dropping me onto something. I even tried to hold me breath!"

LeBeau waved away the criticism as he drew even with Newkirk. "There was no time. I needed you to let go at exactly the right moment."

Newkirk's face was bright white in the moonlight, and LeBeau was now close enough to see that he was shaking.

"I can't swim, LeBeau!" Newkirk screeched.

"Oh." The smaller man picked his way down the bank of the river carefully. It was steep, but jutting with large rocks, which gave him something to hold on to, and balance with only one arm. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, being able to swim probably wouldn't have helped you much in this water. You would have drowned, anyways."

"That definitely makes me feel sooo much better," Newkirk replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Shaking his head, LeBeau eyed the giant rocks that were holding the fallen tree in place. "Is that why you have not moved yet? Because you can't swim."

Newkirk nodded, looking sick.

"Just stay there then. I'll come help you."


	3. Part 3

.

* * *

 **" _Trois."_**

 **"Three"**

* * *

Newkirk was getting antsy: twisting the straw from the floor beneath them into stubby little braids, counting the seconds between the thunder and the lightening strikes, starting to stand up before he realised again that there wasn't enough space.

LeBeau had to work harder to keep him talking.

"So there is more than just Mavis: Owen, Harry and Rick, and 'Bunny'. But that's only five. Are you giving up so soon, Pierre?"

Newkirk frowned. "Fine. After Bunny there comes Inez, Peggy and Wilbur."

LeBeau sniggered, "You English have such odd names."

"Says the man 'oo's last name means 'pretty man'."

"Handsome!" LeBeau insisted. "It means 'handsome one'."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, mate. Anyways," Newkirk held up a hand to cut off any further protest. "Da got out o' the clink not long after we lost Bunny. We had hoped things would be easier for a bit, but Da was real sick. Kept coughin' and his joints were all swollen: I didn't even recognize me own Da. Even his hair was grey. It turned out we were goin' to lose him too if we couldn't get better food for him. Vitamins and all that rot.

"So we took in Peggy and her little brother Wilbur. Peggy was two years younger than me, and she'd dropped out of school. She had a good job at a fancy hotel in town, but their folks were both dead, so Mum looked after Wilbur, and Peggy brought home her wages. Another gal from the same hotel gave us her little girl Inez, 'oo was the same age as Mavis, and we looked after her too, while her mum sent us a bit o' money."

LeBeau shook his head. "Must have been a full house. So there was your Mother and Father, you and Mavis, Owen and three more?"

"Well, actually I took off for a bit when me Da first came home. Or maybe he threw me out, I'm not really sure. With Owen just back on the weekends, I'd been the man 'o the house for so long. It took us a long time to adjust to each other."

Newkirk looked at his friend seriously. "But I did send money home. Even when I was just muckin' about."

* * *

" _What's up, Peg?" Peter paused to wink at his sister's co-worker as she passed through the coat-room. He made sure to keep his muddy boots on the other side of the doorstep, leaning as far into the building as he could without falling over. Last time he'd walked his sister to work, the head housekeeper had threatened to call the footmen if he brought his dirty self into the back of the hotel again._

 _The other maid, her name was Sue, or maybe Sarah, blushed, and took her time leaving the room. When Peter returned his attention to his sister, she was scowling._

 _Peggy directed an arched brow at him, her fingers busy with the apron strings behind her back. "I got something to ask you, Pete, but I don't want to know the answer, and I sure don't want to talk about it afterwards."_

 _"What?"_

 _"Gillian Ham wants to know if you'll take her to the new picture on Friday."_

 _A sly grin spread across Peter's face. "Gillian what wears the blue coat with that big… thing at the neck?"_

 _"It's a broach, Pete."_

 _"Looks like an onion."_

 _"She made it herself."_

 _Peter shrugged. "I don't mind. It don't smell like an onion."_

 _She rolled her eyes, a bad habit that Peter found fascinating in his relatively new sister. Having lived fourteen years without him, Peggy had initially chafed under Peter's overprotective watch. But seeing his stubborn loyalty to his friends and family had eventually won her over and now her sharp wit was rarely directed at him with any real ill intent. If anything, they'd grown closer than the rest of the pack of 'Newkirks', bonding over their constant struggle to keep the rest of the family housed and fed._

 _"Just talk to her, and don't involve me any more."_

 _Peter nodded, turning to go._

 _"Have you spoken to Harry, recently?"_

 _Peter's shoulders slumped. After years of running side by side, Harry's path seemed to be sharply dividing from his own. "You know I 'aven't."_

 _"He told me to tell you Adams has a spot open for you, if want to join 'em."_

 _Green eyes flashing with hurt, Peter opened his mouth to respond, and then stopped when he saw his sister's face._

 _Peggy's expression was serious. "I know why you're keeping away from Adams and his lot. Harry might not understand the consequences of what they do, but eventually it has to catch up with them. Somebody'll end up in jail. Maybe we'll get Harry back at that point, maybe we won't. But I know we'll still have you. It doesn't matter if you bring home pittance, Pete. We can rely on you, and that's more important."_

 _"I do what I can, Peg." He couldn't quite look her in the eye as he said it. It never felt like he did enough._

 _But she smiled anyways. "I know you do. Now get off with you. I need to work."_

 _Peter nodded, and gave her a brave smile. He waited for her to turn all the way around before he slipped the daisy from between his fingers and reached out, quick as a wink, to drop it into her hair. He'd once managed to get a sock on the top of her knot of brown curls, where it stayed for a full half hour before she noticed it. But Peter did have some sense of self-preservation, and he stuck to flowers and feathers outside of her flat._

 _Louis cocked an eyebrow in amusement, watching from just outside the doorway. At sixteen, Peter had finally passed him in height, but he hadn't grown into his body, looking awkwardly stretched and missing any width to his shoulders. He was too thin. Louis wanted to take him across the channel and feed him a dozen of the different concoctions his father was probably whipping up at this very moment._

 _But he shook off the urge. Life didn't work that way._

" _So Peggy…"_

 _Peter glanced over at him as he strode out onto the packed street. "What about her?"_

 _"Is she still single?"_

 _Peter tripped over his own foot. "Louis!"_

 _He shrugged, "I can appreciate beauty, even if it's masquerading as a Newkirk."_

 _"I think that was an insult, and even if it's not, I'm ruddy insulted!"_

 _"Do you really think I don't notice when you change subjects like that?"_

 _Peter scowled. "Have I ever told you 'ow annoying you are?"_

* * *

"Just look me, and not the water."

"I'm not afraid of water," Newkirk snapped. LeBeau had gotten half-way out onto the fallen tree before Newkirk had agreed to move on his own, seeing how much pain his friend was in whenever his shoulder shifted.

"Fine, fine." LeBeau held up a hand, disarmingly. "Just keep crawling."

He turned around, himself, and started shuffling back towards the land. It wasn't easy to balance with one arm tucked away.

"Are you still coming?" he called back.

Newkirk swore at him in reply.

Smiling to himself, LeBeau slid off the end of the tree trunk, and steadied himself on a large rock. They were sort of laid out like stepping stones. Hopping from one to the next, he reached the shore, and then looked back to see Newkirk on the first rock, hugging it like he was afraid gravity might suddenly change direction on him.

" _Très bien._ Now you just have a few more feet to go."

"Actually, he can stay right there." A voice came from the top of the bank behind him, speaking in perfect English.

LeBeau froze.

"I've got a gun pointed at the back of your head, so I'd like you to put your hands where I can see them, and step to the side. I have unfinished business with Mr. Newkirk."

* * *

 **" _Deux_."**

 **"Two"**

* * *

"So Harry ought to be old enough. Is he in the RAF? I have never heard you mention him."

"No." Newkirk shook his head, staring at something far beyond the shed walls. "He tried to enlist, but he walks with a bad limp now, can't run at all. They wouldn't take him."

"A limp?"

"There was an accident. I think I'd just turned seventeen, and he was still sixteen."

 _Peter had found work on the other side of town, helping a retired circus performer with a regular act in a small club. He found he liked the work. They might step widely around him when they heard his accent on the street, but people seemed willing enough to laugh at him onstage. Mr. Sachar had even offered to recommend him for an act of his own, the next time he heard of an opportunity._

" _Hey, Newkirk! Two of your sisters are out front, asking for you."_

 _Peter dropped the costume he'd been mending, and jumped to his feet, his green eyes wide with alarm._

" _Is that unusual?" Louis asked, as Peter pushed past him in the narrow hallway._

" _Yes. They'll have used all today's grocery money just on the bus fare." Peter led him through a maze of winding halls before they spilled out onto a busy street, much wider than the ones back in Stepney, with the buildings stretching up higher as well._

" _Peter!" A blur of orange struck Peter straight in the chest. He stumbled back a step, wrapping his arms around the crying figure. It was a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen, wearing the thick sweater Peter had been wearing the year before. Louis stepped to the side, seeing that Peggy was also there, wrapped in a faded blue coat. She looked even more serious than usual._

" _Pegs? What 'appened?"_

" _It's Harry. There's been an accident."_

 _Peter stiffened, running a hand through the wispy red hair tucked against his chest. "Is 'e…"_

" _He's alive. Adams set up a big job helping Rigby Cooper rob a bank."_

" _A bank!"_

 _She nodded, biting her lip. "Something went wrong, and Cooper turned on 'em. Took the get away car, and ran over Harry in process. It's bad. They're not sure if they'll be able to save 'is leg."_

" _When did this 'appen?"_

" _Not an hour ago. Reece from the fish shop offered to drive us here."_

 _She gestured at the street, and Louis spotted a small lorry parked half a block away._

 _Peter nodded, and gripped the smaller child by the shoulders, carefully pulling her back. "Inez? You found me. Everything'll be alright now. Right, ducky? No need to cry."_

 _Inez's skin was blotched with red, her eyes and nose wet with tears and mucus. Louis dug a handkerchief from his back pocket and passed it to Peter, who passed it on to Inez before looking at Louis with a frown. "How?"_

 _Louis shrugged._

 _They followed Peggy back to the lorry. The tiny cab was open to the back of the van, and Peggy climbed into the front, at Peter's insistence. Peter tucked Inez under one arm, and Louis sat on her other side, bouncing as the vehicle moved._

 _Inez said nothing as Louis watched her curiously. Her skin was so pale he could see the blue veins at her temples if he looked close enough. The fine hair on her head was nothing like the colour of ginger. It was closer in colour to orange sorbet. Her eyebrows and lashes were even lighter in colour, almost invisible when they weren't catching the light._

" _She's quiet," Louis said softly._

 _Peter nodded, staring at the opposite wall intently. "Always. Makin' up for the rest of the family, I suppose… Peggy? Where are the others?"_

" _We couldn't get in touch with Owen. Your Mum went out lookin' for your father again, but hasn't found 'im yet. Mavis is lookin' after the others."_

" _What about Grandmum?"_

 _Peggy twisted in the front seat to give them a grimace. She looked like she was trying hard to hold back tears. "It's a bad day. She's can't tell up from down. If we're lucky, Mavis will be able to convince her just to go to bed. I don't know how we're going to manage this, Pete."_

"You said he survives, though," LeBeau interrupted.

Newkirk hummed in agreement, shifting to stretch out his legs on the shed floor. He started tapping his fingers against one leg. "It were close. Really, bloody close. Didn't know it was possible to feel that scared for so long. And to know there were going to be all those bills, and a missing income. We'd barely been scraping by as it were. And then after they saved him I weren't scared any more. I were just so, bloody, angry. Stupid angry…"

 _It was dark out now, and Louis could smell the sour brackish scent of the Thames. They were back in Stepney, closer to the water than he'd been before. The buildings were closely packed as ever, but these appeared to be warehouses instead of housing._

 _"Where are we going?" he whispered._

 _Peter had his cap pulled low on his head, his green eyes angry and his fists clenched. "We're going to find Adams. I trusted him with me brother. Nobody works with Rigby Cooper, if they don't want their head bashed in. Cooper hurts people for fun. Adams knows better, and his greed almost got me brother killed!"_

 _Louis wrapped his arms around himself. "Are you sure this a good idea? Is it even safe to be out here this late?"_

 _Peter turned to give him a look. He was barely seventeen and already his eyes were lined with permanent shadows, pinched around the edges with strain. He looked tired and worn. "It's never safe 'ere. Never safe anywhere."_

 _A lane to their right cut away into deeper darkness, and Peter pulled him in that direction. "But it's fine. Adams' been a friend since I were a kid. He wouldn't hurt me. Come on, Adams lives at the end 'o this street."_

 _Louis followed closely behind his friend, almost blind in the darkness. But there were noises coming from further ahead, and when they rounded a rubbish bin he realised it was two voices. The raised voices of two men fighting._

 _Peter froze._

 _"Who is that?" Louis whispered._

 _"Cooper?" The reply was barely audible. Peter's eyes were big as saucers. He was obviously terrified of the surprisingly small man in the bowler hat. The other man Louis supposed was Adams. He looked quite a lot like an older version of Harry, actually, in shape and colouring, at least._

 _Peter took two steps forward._

 _Did he think he was going to somehow help his friend?_

 _Then there was a flash of metal in the moonlight, and Louis realised someone had drawn a gun._

Bang!

 _Cooper dropped to the ground._

 _Louis flinched away from the blood. He closed his eyes, but could still hear Peter's heavy breathing in the near silence._

" _Newkirk?" Adams sounded shaken. "What are you doing here? When did you-"_

 _There was a scrape of leather shoes on cobblestone, and Louis clutched his friend's sweater, taking a step along with him._

" _You killed 'im."_

" _Damn it! I didn't want, I, I'm… sorry." Adam finished off the apology abruptly, like he'd come to a sudden decision._

 _Another scrape of leather, and Peter jerked backwards._

 _Louis's eyes snapped open. Adams had the younger man by the front of his shirt. He pushed him hard, forcing Louis to jump out of the way, and Peter to slam into the alley wall._

" _What-"_

 _He pressed one hand firmly over Peter's mouth, pinning him with his whole weight against the wall. With his other hand, he pulled out a knife._

 _Louis had his fists up in the air, clenched so tight it felt like the bones would pop out of their sockets, but he couldn't do anything, because he wasn't really there._

 _Eyes blown wide, Peter was fighting back as hard as he could, but Adams had a decade of weight and experience over him._

" _Peter!"_

 _The voice was far away, out on the main street somewhere. But it was enough. Adams was distracted for a moment and Peter kneed him hard. The older man stumbled back with a howl, and Peter hit him again, going for all the joints and soft parts they always told you were out of bounds._

" _Come on!" Louis screeched._

 _Peter took a deep breath and ran. He scrambled around the corner onto the street, spinning around till he saw a smaller figure ahead in the fog. It was his younger brother Wilbur._

" _Peter?"_

 _He grabbed his brother's sleeve as he passed him, pulling him into a run._

" _Quiet, Willy," Peter gasped, his voice rough. "We need to get out of here."_

" _What 'appened? I was lookin' everywhere for you."_

" _Nothing. Nothing 'appened. We just need to leave."_

" _Pierre! Wait up!"_

 _Wilbur froze in place and Peter spun to face Louis. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. "What do you want?"_

" _Are you okay?"_

" _No!" Peter's voice cracked, and he seemed halfway between screaming and crying. "That's the last time I'll trust anyone outside me family."_

" _But-"_

" _Never! You can't trust anyone. Just… no."_

 _Peter backed away, tucking himself close to Wilbur like the small child offered some source of protection._

 _Louis raised his hands in surrender, giving him space to retreat._

 _The fog was thick, mixing with the darkness and blur of the streetlamps, and Louis watched the brothers run the length of the street until it swallowed them entirely._

* * *

Outside, the rain had finally died down.

It seemed like time had stopped while they waited in the barn, focused on a past more colourful and real than the featureless dark around them, but when LeBeau looked down at his watch he saw that three hours had already passed. Morning was only a couple hours away. Morning roll call came with it, but between them and the safety of Stalag 13 was Captain Bradshaw.

Captain Bradshaw who wanted to shoot his friend.

LeBeau sat back, trying to process all that he had learnt. Newkirk's knee had stopped bouncing up and down, and he had progressed to a full body wiggle. Sighing, LeBeau pressed himself to the side as Newkirk squished by him to kneel at the entrance to the shed.

Wait a minute. "Newkirk. That's eight. You said you had nine siblings before."

Newkirk looked back at him over his shoulder. "It's not half as bad out. I think we better make a run for it while the weathers as good as it is."

"You didn't answer me."

"We don't have time for that, LeBeau. We've got a mission to complete."

"Did someone else die?"

"What?"

LeBeau followed him out. "You don't want to tell me who your ninth sibling is. Did they die?"

"I wasn't-"

LeBeau did a double-take. Newkirk actually appeared to be blushing.

"Nobody else died, LeBeau. Never mind about that."

* * *

 **" _Un_."**

 **"One"**

* * *

"Don't turn around. Show me your hands."

Newkirk was still stuck to his rock, mouth hanging open uselessly.

LeBeau held his one arm out to the side. "I wrenched my shoulder. I can't move the other arm. But if you think you can shoot Newkirk and skip away unidentified, then you're wrong. I know who you are, Adams."

He turned around slowly.

The man at the top of the river bank was tall and blond, mildly handsome at the same time that he was forgettable. Even with a gun in his hand he looked more awkward than villainous. Right now, he also looked befuddled. "I don't know you. Why do you know my name?"

"Because I know Newkirk."

"Adams?" Newkirk finally spoke, sliding forward to balance on one of the flatter rocks.

Adams tore his eyes away from LeBeau to focus on Newkirk again. They were too close to each other for him to shoot over the Frenchman, even though he was standing on higher ground.

LeBeau growled. "You are not Bradshaw."

The other man tightened his grip on his gun. "I am Captain Bradshaw. At least, I have been, for several years now. It's been an awful long time since anyone called me Adams."

Despite the gun pointed at them, Newkirk actually looked relieved. "You still look so much like Harry."

Bradshaw frowned. "I didn't expect to see you here, Newkirk. It's been almost a decade."

The longer he spoke, the more his accent seemed to shift. LeBeau could hear his 'H's start to soften. "The first time I heard your voice on the radio I thought I was hallucinating."

"You were the one who taught me to do impressions."

Nodding slowly, Bradshaw took a couple steps to the left, trying to get around the Frenchman.

"You want to shoot him, you're going to have to go through me too."

"I don't want to shoot you, but I will. This is too important."

Newkirk steadied himself on the larger rock, still too far out in the stream to move quickly. "Adams. I won't tell anybody. I've never told anybody. Just leave us alone. Let us both go."

"I don't believe you. I know the Newkirks. You'd never forgive me for what happened to Harry."

There was silence for a moment, and LeBeau glanced over his shoulder to see Newkirk's face scrunched up in confusion. "Harry? Why are you going on about Harry?"

"I know you blame me for his death."

Here, LeBeau had to cut in. "Newkirk, you told me Rebecca was the only one of your siblings who died."

"She is. Harry's not dead. Are you talking about the accident with the motorcar? He's got a limp now, but it sure didn't kill him. In fact, it's probably the only reason he's not out here in the war, getting shot at. I count that accident as a lucky streak. It broke 'im away from you, at least."

Adams had lowered his gun, staring at them with a stunned expression.

"He's not dead."

"No."

Looking at Newkirk, and then the weapon in his hand, the older man seemed to be having trouble processing the information. "But I thought, I… Cooper maybe I could get away with, but I knew for sure you'd turn me in for Harry. You wouldn't have kept quiet."

Newkirk had been slowly creeping closer to the shore, and as soon as LeBeau sensed him come up behind him he felt brave enough to ask.

"Does this mean you're not going to kill us?"

Adams' eyes were not entirely focussed on them. "I didn't want to, but I was sure Newkirk would want revenge, and what I'm doing here is so important."

"With the German underground?"

"Yes. I realised you were working with Papa Bear, and I thought if I just made sure we didn't cross paths, then everything would be fine. But then they set up this meet, and I knew you would recognise me. My past would come out. Everything ruined in a moment."

"How would shooting Newkirk fix anything?" LeBeau demanded.

"One soldier, for all my years of spying? I think the Allies would accept the trade-off. Captain Bradshaw has a clean and respectable record. Maybe Newkirk was a traitor. Maybe it was friendly fire. I didn't think I had chance of convincing him to let me go. I was wrong. Maybe I was wrong about everything."

Newkirk edged to the side, staring at Bradshaw warily. "Are you going to put the gun down?"

Bradshaw un-cocked the gun and dropped it to the ground. Mud splattered up across his ankles.

LeBeau let out a sigh of relief, and glanced over at Newkirk, who was still sticking close to his shoulder.

"You tried to kill me."

"I did, and I'm sorry. You were just a kid. It wasn't your fault. I'd never realised how selfish I was, before that night." He looked away, unable to meet Newkirk's eyes. "I'm trying to make up for that, now."

Newkirk said nothing, so LeBeau took the initiative and trudged up the slope of the river bank, stopping to pick up Bradshaw's gun along the way. He stuck it in the belt of his pants with his one free hand. "Forgive me if I don't trust you with this."

Adams just nodded. He was soaked to the skin, much like them, and now tired and confused. "Now what? The military doesn't know anything about my past, my name, that I'm wanted for murder..."

"Nobody in the East End was calling it murder, Adams," Newkirk said slowly. "Other than the coppers, at least. I think people were mostly relieved Cooper was gone."

"And you?" Adams looked down at Newkirk. "What do you think?"

Newkirk brushed off his hands and climbed up the incline. When he got to the top, he stopped a few steps from Adams. "I _don't_ think about you. Not anymore. You took a lot away from my family, from me, but we survived, and we're all the stronger for it. So, go off back to your spying and stay Captain Bradshaw. We don't care."

He pulled a sodden envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and tossed it at Adams' feet. Then he tugged at LeBeau's sleeve, and turned them away from the river. "There's your blasted codes. Morning's coming, and we're going 'ome."

Adams didn't seem to know how to respond, and they'd walked several paces away before he called out. "Wait!"

Brow furrowed, Adams gestured at LeBeau. "I don't understand. If he knows who I am, then he knows who you are. He doesn't mind a criminal working for the Allies?"

Sticking out his bottom lip, LeBeau shrugged. "There are so, so many ways to describe my friend, and out of all of them you would choose to call him a criminal? That's bad judgment on your part, not mine."

They walked away.

The sky was growing paler in the distance, the edge of darkness fleeing back across the sky before the onset of dawn.

LeBeau wiggled in his jacket, trying to find a comfortable position for his shoulder.

"You alright?" Newkirk asked.

"No. It hurts," LeBeau whined. "It will probably be swollen as big as a football by morning."

"I did tell you to cut off your stupid buttons, and look where they got you."

"Here?" LeBeau glanced around at the clear sky, and the shattered branches and remnants of the storm's destruction about them.

"Yeah. Here, I guess."

"Hmm."

LeBeau waited a few more minutes before he broke the quiet. "So. Owen, Mavis Harry and Rick, Bunny, Peggy, Inez and Wilbur. That's still only eight, Newkirk."

Newkirk stopped. "Really? You're still going on about that?"

"Well you never finished your story."

"It is finished, alright? We're all done, and we're heading home."

"We can't be done until I know who's number nine! That makes no sense."

"I don't care if it makes no sense. That's the end."

He tried to keep walking, but LeBeau stepped into his path, planting his feet wide. "No. It is cruel and unusual punishment to tell me that much and then stop. You must tell me."

Newkirk had flushed a deep pink. "Carter put me on the spot, and I wasn't really thinking. How was I to know he'd tell you what I said?"

"Why are you so worked up about this? It's a simple question."

"You! Alright? I was counting you as number nine."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

LeBeau pressed his lips together. "I have never had a real brother."

Newkirk stepped around him. "Fine. I'm not your real brother, anyways."

"Hey! I didn't say I disagreed with you."

"You don't?"

"No. No, I don't think I do."

* * *

 ** _Fin_**

 **The End**


End file.
